


Who Are You Really?

by happysarcasm



Series: andi’s mcyt fics [10]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: :), Anxiety, Betrayal, Crying, Derealization, Dissociation, Gen, Hallucinations, Hearing Voices, Hurt No Comfort, Isolation, Panic, Panic Attacks, Self-Hatred, ranboo is simply Panicking, this is not DID related i ain’t doing that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:53:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28589085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happysarcasm/pseuds/happysarcasm
Summary: Ranboo doesn’t like hearing voices[SPOILERS FOR JAN 5TH STREAMS]
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Series: andi’s mcyt fics [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1905163
Comments: 3
Kudos: 101





	Who Are You Really?

**Author's Note:**

> hello! SO UH. THE WINTER FESTIVAL HUH? god i have so much i wanna write for this arc but i’m gonna hold off until after tomorrow’s streams. hope u enjoy this it’s my first time writing ranboo AJSJDSHSJ

Ranboo was panicking.

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence in itself, the half-enderman wasn’t one for looking at things logically, usually resulting in high levels of emotional distress. But right now? This kind of panic was _so, so much different_.

Dream showed the others his book. He showed his _friends_ that book. Were they his friends now? Tubbo looked at him like he was a stranger. His only home may be getting destroyed tomorrow. His own allies now thought of him as indecisive scum. A side-switcher. A liability. Untrustworthy. A traitor.

And all because Tubbo gave him that disc. That _god forsaken_ disc that’s responsible for EVERY single conflict since Tommy stepped foot into the SMP.

But it’s not Tubbo’s fault, is it? It was Ranboo’s; he chose to write those down, he knew that someone would find out, Ranboo **lied** and hurt his friends, he was bordering on being the enemy. But he’s not the enemy, he’s not, he couldn’t be, he’s **not their enemy**. Was he?

He had to write them down, how could he have remembered anything otherwise?! Dream was the bad guy here, not him, not Tubbo. Not anyone.

But what if it was his fault? What if he put everyone in danger because of one mistake?

It didn’t matter anymore. The damage was done, and now Ranboo was sitting up against the dark, haunting walls of his newly dubbed Panic Room. He sat, staring at the smile, that _smile_ that taunted him on the first page that had been stained with dry tears. Ranboo didn’t know if they were his.

He was muttering to himself again. Ranboo found himself here more than once a day since it was constructed, the walls that isolated him and the signs with hastily carved words seemed to bring about a sense of stability. Well, not stability exactly. A place of refuge from the chaos was more of a fitting term.

Yet Ranboo knew there was no safety from the horror outside this tiny room. He heard the voice of Dream in his head now, he _saw_ visions of the damn puppeteer who seemed to have everyone hung on his endless, entangled strings. 

Ranboo started hearing other voices as well. Sometimes he heard Tubbo, the distant voice of his friend asking him why, why he did those horrible things, and Ranboo could never give an answer other than meaningless apologies.

Other times he heard Tommy, the faint and damaged version of Tommy he saw during his exile being most often heard. If he closed his eyes long enough, he saw tattered clothes, rips, scrapes, bruises and dull, monochromatic eyes; those red strings seeming impossible to untangle. 

Even if he saw the Tommy of the present, the newly unexiled Tommy, those strings still had a tight hold on his friend. Those strings were on everybody.

He’d hear mixing of his friends, his enemies, everyone’s voices and they were all so loud. Loud and unending and cruel, they wouldn’t leave him alone, in this box there was nowhere to run from them.

Ranboo heard them now. Some were shouting, others questioning him, some fighting each other. He wanted it to stop, he wanted them to go away, to **leave**.

“Stop, **_stop_** , I didn’t— You didn’t mean to do those things, you’re not a traitor, you aren’t. But you are, you hurt them, you _are_ —“ The muttering under his breath grew louder as he started arguing with himself again. He asked, pleaded with everything in his mind to just stop, but he swore everything only got louder.

Shutting his eyes, Ranboo scrambled to think of anything else, any distraction. But he wouldn’t vanish if he shut his eyes hard enough, he and his problems were still here, still coexisting. “ _Please_ just disappear, go away. Leave me alone I didn’t mean to, I didn’t- I didn’t, _I swear I didn’t want this_.” Everything around him turned to static, the world only being him and his visions. “But you— you could’ve stopped it— you could’ve done something for **once** , instead of standing to the side with your guilty conscience and reprehensible actions, you could have helped them.” 

The book was tight in his grip. His eyes hurt. Where was everybody? He wanted to go home, but did he even have a home anymore? Where was he? Were his friends ok? His head hurt. Why did his face feel like it was on fire? Where was he?

A loud tear from the book below him finally brought his attention back to the world. Ranboo stared at the page he’d accidentally torn, the almost blank page now having a gash down the middle from where his nails slashed. The smile, of course, was still intact. Of course it was.

Ranboo’s head hit the obsidian behind him as he slumped farther down the wall. He tried to make himself as small as possible, with his knees to his chest and face buried into his elbows.

Everything was quieter now. He could hear rushing water and faint footsteps from outside the bunker. He was thankful that everything in his head stopped for once. 

So why did he feel alone again?

Maybe he was doomed to be like this. Overwhelmed with voices or painfully isolated, sided with everyone or sided with nobody. Maybe this was just his purpose, to be the middleman, counting the seconds and dreading every moment until the inevitable end. The firey, messy end. 

Ranboo counted the minutes. At least he could still do that. He was still the minute man.

**Author's Note:**

> someone help him :(
> 
> ALSo according to ao3 statistics, only a small percentage of readers actually leave a comment, so if y


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